


Permanent

by Ellessey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellessey/pseuds/Ellessey
Summary: 'Oikawa was so certain that his love for Iwa-chan couldn’t have grown the way it had, if they weren’t already soulmates who were just too young to have received their marks yet.And so, he gave fate a hand and marked himself as Iwa-chan’s himself, showed up at school, blushing and excited and proud, and Iwa-chan had just flushed a little and nodded his head. Not surprised in the least, because of course that was where they were heading all along. All they had to do was wait for Iwa-chan’s mark to appear, for Oikawa’s real one to do the same. Except that it didn’t.'--Oikawa wants to stop lying to himself, and to Iwa-chan. He needs to let fate run its course, wherever it takes them, no matter how scary that may be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So [Mel](http://mlim8.tumblr.com/) had this adorable idea for a soulmate au that she thought she would maybe draw a few doodles for, because it would be too big of a project to do more. But it was _such_ a good idea, and I wanted to see it all, so I said I would write it as a fic if she drew it, and here we are! We've been posting in parts on Tumblr as Mel got the illustrations done (which....took some time, because I gave her a lot to illustrate : >). But! She did it, _beautifully_. And now that it is finally complete I wanted to post the fic all together in one place, with the addition of an epilogue, so here it is ^^
> 
> And please check out Mel's gorgeous, gorgeous doujin, which covers everything except for the final scene, right [here](http://mlim8.tumblr.com/post/147729950278/permanent-part-one)!
> 
> \--
> 
> This fic includes some very bad decision making and manipulation on Oikawa's part. The boy done screwed up and he knows it, and he has to deal with it, but just be aware in case that's something you're uncomfortable reading.

Oikawa is running late this morning. He has a bowl of fruit and oatmeal on the bathroom counter so he can take bites of his breakfast while he’s drying his hair. It’s not an ideal situation. He’s tired and a little unfocused, and twice he almost hits himself in the face with a spoonful of lukewarm oatmeal, when what he meant to do was lift his other hand to redirect the hot air and make sure his hair is getting hit from just the right angle.

In the end he gives up on the hair dryer, runs a hand through his hair, scowling when it doesn’t fall quite the way it’s supposed to, and takes two more hurried bites before darting back to his bedroom to check the time.

It’s 7:36. Iwa-chan will be here in four minutes so they can walk to school together, and he still hasn’t sat down to touch up the mark on his wrist. The one that Iwa-chan and all of their friends believe is his Soul Ink Mark, the one that says Iwa-chan’s name and proves the two of them are destined to be together, made for each other. Exactly what Oikawa has always wanted them to be.

Except that the mark on Oikawa’s wrist is not, in fact, written in Soul Ink. He didn’t wake up one morning to find the name of his soulmate seeped into his skin, forever marking him as Iwa-chan’s, and leaving him secure in the promise that Iwa-chan would be marked as Oikawa’s when his own tattoo appeared. This mark, as it happens, was drawn on carefully with a thin, felt-tip pen. Has been for the past three years, since Oikawa first saw one just like it sitting on his father’s desk and thought, “Huh, I wonder…”

He knows, he _knows,_ that what he did next was not a good idea. But at the time, it had seemed so simple, so right, because _of course_ he was going to end up with Iwa-chan’s mark anyway.

They’ve been best friends since they were four, after all. Have grown together and fought and played and discovered, and then, sometime in middle school, that brotherly affection started to change, for Oikawa at least. He started to take notice when Iwa-chan stripped off his shirt in the locker room. His heart started to stutter when Iwa-chan looked at him directly with those intense, green eyes. And his breath began to catch any time their legs bumped together while they studied at the same desk, or Iwa-chan’s hand brushed against his, or tangled in his hair as he berated Oikawa for whatever obnoxious thing he’d just said or done.

He was certain, _so certain,_ that he couldn’t feel those things for Iwa-chan, that his love for him couldn’t have grown the way it had, if they weren’t already soulmates who were just too young to have received their marks yet.

And so, he gave fate a hand and marked himself as Iwa-chan’s himself, showed up at school, blushing and excited and proud, and Iwa-chan had just flushed a little and nodded his head. Not surprised in the least, because of course that was where they were heading all along. All they had to do was wait for Iwa-chan’s mark to appear, for Oikawa’s real one to do the same.

Except that it didn’t. Not for either one of them.

It didn’t that year, the year they were fifteen. And it didn’t the next, or the next.

And now…now Oikawa’s spontaneous decision, that at the time seemed impetuous and childish at worst, seems like something else entirely.

Because Iwa-chan, as much as Oikawa wants him to, still does not belong to him. Iwa-chan who has never looked at anyone else since the day Oikawa showed up bearing his name ( _This is genius!_ Oikawa had thought at the time), who has patiently waited beside him for his own mark to turn up, is maybe, possibly ( _probably_ at this point, oh God) never going to find _Oikawa Tooru_ inked into his skin.

And Oikawa knows now what he didn’t realize then. The reason that those black market Soul Ink tattoo parlors are not okay, are banned and frowned-upon and discussed in hushed tones. He knows that if Iwa-chan is not going to end up with Oikawa’s mark, if he really has no claim to him at all…then Oikawa has really, horribly, irrevocably, unforgivably fucked up.

He sighs as he sits down at his desk and pulls the black pen he uses only for this purpose out of his drawer. He used to get so excited when he did this. He accepted it as a challenge that very first day when he turned up with his mark, and Kindaichi had side-eyed it and pointed out that it didn’t exactly look like Iwaizumi-senpai’s writing. He’d slipped an assignment Iwa-chan had just gotten back out of his school bag and taken it home to spend the entire night learning to mimic his writing. ( _You look like shit,_ Iwa-chan said the next morning. _Were you up all night again?_ To which Oikawa had responded with a mumbled, blushing, half-honest reply about staring at his Soul Ink, and Iwa-chan had blushed, too.)

Now Oikawa gets a pit in his stomach every time he sees Kindaichi, poor soul, because that, right there, was the moment this all could have ended as what it started as—just a childish game. He could have owned up right then and admitted that he drew it on himself. But he was stupid and hopeful and arrogantly, childishly certain that he was _right,_ that this was inevitable, and now…

Oikawa gets to work, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he tries not to breathe, tries to make each line as absolutely perfect as possible as he traces over Iwa-chan’s name, so it will be just as deep and fresh today as it was the day before. Because all he can really do now is try to delay what really seems to be inevitable at this point—the day Iwa-chan finds someone else’s mark on his skin and realizes that his best friend is actually the worst kind of person, and everything they have together goes up in flames.

He hates this task now.

His phone buzzes on the corner of his desk just as he’s finishing up, and he puts the pen back in his drawer and opens the message that has just arrived.

 **Iwa-chan  
** _i’m outside. you’d better not be sleeping_

 **Oikawa  
** _Of course not, Iwa-chan!! Just running a tiny bit late, be out in a minute!_

 **Iwa-chan**  
_if you stayed up all night watching replays again i’m gonna kick your stupid obsessive ass_

 **Oikawa**  
_Every time you text me you only make us later (⌒▽⌒)☆_

 **Iwa-chan**  
_…i’m leaving_

Oikawa wouldn’t put it past him to be telling the truth right now, so he slips his phone in his pocket and quickly gathers up his books, shoving them in his bag as he half runs out of his room and to the front door. He pauses for just a moment, looking over his wrist one last time to make sure that even if he feels like a disaster inside, even if it’s creeping onto the outside because God knows his hair is not up to his usual standards today, his tattoo, at least, is perfect.

It looks just right, just like it always does. The perfect mark binding him to the perfect boy. The perfect boy who really doesn’t belong to him at all.

When he steps outside Iwa-chan is still standing in his typical spot, leaning against the gate.

“Morning, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa calls to him, hitching up his bag on his right shoulder and raising his left hand in a wave before he can stop himself. It became a habit, back when he was sure it was only a matter of time before his fake mark became real, using his left hand for absolutely anything he could just to give himself a chance to flash his ink.

Iwa-chan just rolls his eyes and steps back when Oikawa comes through the gate. “You think I’m gonna forget that thing’s there if you don’t shove it in my face every day?” he asks.

Oikawa almost laughs, in that painful, choked kind of way, because there’s nothing he’d love more than for everyone to forget this mark is here. “Well, Iwa-chan,” he says, working himself up to something he can say out loud. Something typically _him._ “Your memory retention is sub-par at best…”

“Says the guy who had to eat half my lunch yesterday because he left his at home.”

“Maybe I just like sharing lunch with you,” Oikawa says, purposely veering to the side a little so their shoulders will brush together as they walk. This is about as close as they ever get, since Iwa-chan seems to be waiting to get his own ink before he makes a real move, and Oikawa certainly isn’t going to make one when he knows he has no right to. He knows his time is running out though, it won’t be long before even little touches like this are something he’ll never get to feel again.

“Well I like eating an entire meal,” Iwa-chan says, “so don’t make it a habit, dumbass.”

Oikawa knows it’s his turn to respond with something pithy, something clever and cute, but he’s finding it harder and harder to act naturally around Iwa-chan, when every time he sees him he gets a flutter of panic in his chest.

Most of their classmates already have their marks, some have had them almost as long as Oikawa has been faking his. So it’s only a matter of time, possibly just weeks or even days, before Oikawa’s ruse is up, before Iwa-chan finds out he’s been lied to all this time, and Oikawa is scared shitless of what’s going to happen when that day comes.

He’s not sure, actually, what the consequences will be. At the very least he’ll lose Iwa-chan entirely, which is already the worst thing he can imagine. But beyond that? What happens when everyone finds out what he’s done? It’s not _illegal,_ but it’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, and Oikawa thinks maybe it isn’t so bad that Iwa-chan is probably going to kill him when he finds out. Possibly actually, literally, murder him and bury him where no one will ever find him. Because once this is all over, once Iwa-chan hates him and goes off to be with someone else, Oikawa will have nothing left anyway.

Iwa-chan is everything to him. His Soul Ink may be fake, but all of his feelings for Iwa-chan, all of his plans and hopes and dreams for their future, are completely, heart-crushingly real.

“What’s wrong with you?” Iwa-chan asks now, startling Oikawa out of his thoughts. “You look weird.”

“What?” Oikawa’s hands flutter up to his hair, smoothing through it, and he anxiously glances at his wrist in case he somehow slipped up in his hurry this morning. “No I don’t…do I? Oh my god, can you tell I didn’t dry my hair properly?”

Iwa-chan narrows his eyes, like trying to comprehend Oikawa’s stupidity is giving him a headache. Oikawa wishes he could tell him that he has a headache all the time now for the same reason. “No one gives a shit about your hair, Trashykawa. You just look….tired, I guess.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Iwa-chan says, shaking his head. “Are you sure you didn’t stay up too late?”

Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself not to lean into Iwa-chan’s shoulder like he wants to. This, what’s happening now, is not helping. It is half the reason he’s tired and jumpy and weird. Iwa-chan worrying about him, watching out for him, acting like Oikawa is his responsibility because they belong to each other, when they _don’t,_ and he doesn’t deserve this.

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Oikawa says quietly. “I wasn’t studying or making notes for the team or anything.”

“Are you okay?” Iwa-chan asks, stopping right at the edge of the street before they cross over to the Aoba Johsai campus. He lifts a hand to press the back of it to Oikawa’s cheek, which immediately floods with heat, of course. It kills him when Iwa-chan is gentle and quiet like this, when he thinks about him being like this with anyone else after this all comes crashing down. “You feel warm.”

Oikawa swallows hard and then forces a smile. “I’m just fine,” he says. “Thinking too much about our next match, I guess.”

“The prospect of Kageyama-kun beating you giving you nightmares?” Iwa-chan asks with a smirk, letting his hand fall from Oikawa’s face.

“Tobio-chan is _not_ going to beat me,” Oikawa sniffs, and then he looks at Iwa-chan and adds, “Us. He doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Iwa-chan says sincerely, clapping Oikawa hard on the back and then stepping into the street.

Oikawa sighs and follows him, feeling possibly even worse than before. This is just another way that Iwa-chan takes care of him. Encouraging him when he needs it, just like he always does. (Often while yelling at him if he needs that. He often needs that.) **  
**

Oikawa had been so stupidly, explosively jealous when Tobio had joined the team in his and Iwa-chan’s last year at Kitagawa Daiichi, so determined to be better than this dark-haired kid with more raw talent than he knew what to do with. It was right after Oikawa almost lost his cool completely (well, he _did_ lose his cool completely) but right after he _really_ lost it and almost fucked up by punching Tobio-chan in the face (honestly, did Oikawa make _any_ good decisions when he was fifteen? He shouldn’t have been allowed to even leave the house), that Iwa-chan had stepped in and said exactly what Oikawa needed to hear to help him sort out the mess of thoughts and emotions that had tangled up inside of him. Helped him see that he didn’t have to worry about being the best on his own.

Iwa-chan has always been there to tell him that he’s strong, to show him that he’s even stronger with Iwa-chan and the rest of the team at his side. Oikawa can pinpoint it to that very day, that exact moment, when he realized just how much he needed Iwa-chan. How much he always wanted to have him. To _have_ him.

That was the day his certainty that they must be meant for each other overwhelmed him completely, and he went home and fucked everything up with a felt-tip pen.

 *

Oikawa drags himself through another day, and then another week, touching up his mark every morning before he goes outside and fakes another smile. He hopes that maybe he can just ride this out until graduation. Maybe he can be long gone, off to a college as far away as he can find, before Iwa-chan learns the truth. Because with every day that passes Oikawa becomes more and more certain that there’s no way in hell it will be his name on Iwa-chan’s skin. And there’s really no way he can be brave enough to deal with the fall-out when it’s not.

If he were that brave he would have just told Iwa-chan already and gotten it all over with, so he could stop feeling sick all day and terrified all night.

“Oikawa, what the hell?” Iwa-chan says, a couple weeks later, when they’ve just arrived at school and Oikawa has realized that once again, he’s forgotten his lunch at home. “This is the fourth fucking time in less than two weeks!”

“I know,” Oikawa says. “I’m sorry, I’ll just buy something.”

“Have you actually remembered your wallet then?” Iwa-chan asks.

Oikawa pats at his back pocket and then looks anywhere he can other than Iwa-chan. This is ridiculous. He is positively losing his shit, and there are five weeks left before the year ends. Five more weeks of drawing his fake mark and being a fake soulmate and essentially a fake friend, because he feels like all he does with Iwa-chan anymore is lie to him.

“Oikawa…” Iwa-chan says, his voice unexpectedly soft now under the din of students moving and laughing around them. “It’s fine. I brought extra, just in case.”

Oikawa has to fake a sneeze, and then fabricate a meeting with a teacher, so he can cover his face and get out of there as fast as possible. He hides in the restroom until after first period begins, when he thinks it’s a little less obvious that he’s been crying, and then shuffles into class and takes his place in front of Iwa-chan.

He doesn’t move away, even though he should, when Iwa-chan leans over his desk and strokes his thumb over the base of Oikawa’s curved spine.

He’s not even going to make it another five days at this rate. 

* 

The next morning Oikawa can’t do it. He can’t sit at his desk and trace his tattoo, can’t wave to Iwa-chan and walk to school with him and try to act like he’s fine. He sends Iwa-chan a quick message ( _going in early! see you at practice!_ ) and leaves the house with his hair still damp, just so he can hide in the locker room alone and not have to pretend, at least for a little while.

He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the lockers behind him with his arms wrapped around his knees, thinking that maybe he can catch up on a little lost sleep right here before the rest of the team arrives, when he hears footsteps approaching. Too early, no one should be here this early.

“Hello?” he calls out.

“Hey.” It’s Iwa-chan, coming in with his hair wet, too, and his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Iwa-chan...what are you doing here?”

Iwa-chan drops his bag on the bench in front of Oikawa and turns to look down at him. “If you’re going to be stupid and come in earlier than you need to, I guess I have to come in too, and make sure you’re not killing yourself practicing too hard.”

“I’m not practicing,” Oikawa says from his curled up position on the floor.

“I see that.”

“You didn’t need to come, Iwa-chan. I’m just going to...get the nets set up in a bit, and—”

“Then I’ll help you,” Iwa-chan says, offering Oikawa his hand.

“No, you don’t need—”

“Oikawa, come on.” Iwa-chan crouches down in front of him and Oikawa tries to lean backwards, but the lockers are right behind him. “Why do you make everything so difficult? Just let me help you.”

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. It’s not at all convincing. It comes out brittle and strained.

“Oikawa…” Iwa-chan slips his hands behind Oikawa’s knees and tugs his legs until they’re stretched out straight in front of him, and then he crawls forward and sits down, right there over Oikawa’s lap.

“Iwa...what are you—”

“Listen,” Iwa-chan says, lifting his hands to cup Oikawa’s face and set it on fire. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but since you won’t talk to me...maybe…”

Oikawa can’t breathe. His heart is pounding so hard it _hurts,_ and Iwa-chan...Iwa-chan is leaning closer, brushing his nose against Oikawa’s, his lips right there, so, so close to where Oikawa has always wanted them, except…

“No,” Oikawa says, ducking his head down and trying to push Iwa-chan away. “Don’t, Iwa...you can’t.”

“Why not?” Iwa-chan asks, red-faced and confused now. Hurt, even. “We’re _soulmates,_ Tooru, and I just want to make you feel better. I thought...I thought you’d want—”

Oh God, oh God...he can’t do this. He can’t let Iwa-chan say his name like that. Can’t let him kiss him when they don’t belong together. He can’t think up another lie and he can’t let Iwa-chan go one second thinking Oikawa doesn’t want to kiss him, when that’s all he’s wanted for the past three years.

“We’re _not,”_ he cries, scrambling to his feet so he can get out from between Iwa-chan’s arms, from beneath his legs. So he doesn’t give Iwa-chan any more reason to hate him for what he’s about to say. “We’re _not_ soulmates.”

“Of course we are!” Iwa-chan says. “I know mine took a lot longer, but that doesn’t matter...I have it now, and—”

“What?” Oikawa almost shouts it. “You have what?”

“My _ink,_ Oikawa, right here.” He lifts his shirt up and it’s there, right on his side. _Oikawa Tooru,_ the characters running lengthwise down his ribs in bold, black ink. “I got it a few days ago. I wanted to tell you, but you’ve been so—”

“You can’t have,” Oikawa says, backing away and shaking his head. He’s losing his mind. Has lost his mind. He’s imagining this all now, making up what he wanted to happen. “How do you...did you write that? Do you _know,_ Iwa?”

He must, he must know. He knows Oikawa’s been faking it and he’s getting him back right now, showing him how cruel and stupid and horrible his own mark is, and—

“Of course I didn’t fucking write it, stupid. Know _what?_ What the hell are—”

“That it’s fake! Mine’s fake! You can’t have my name because I don’t have yours, Iwa-chan. I never have.”

Oikawa’s voice rings out, shrill and echoing in the empty locker room, and then there is only silence. Oikawa and Iwa-chan facing each other, and Iwa-chan looking at him like he doesn't know what he's seeing.

“No,” he says finally, shaking his head. “I have your name, Oikawa. This isn’t fake. What we _have_ isn’t—”

“It is,” Oikawa says. He’s starting to cry, but it doesn’t matter now. “I love you, Iwa-chan. I love you so much and I thought...I thought that meant I’d get to have you, but...”

He turns away, hurries over to the row of sinks across from the showers and turns the water on hot. Iwa-chan follows him over, watches him pump soap out and scrub it over his arm.

“It doesn’t come off, Oikawa. I don’t understand why you—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Oikawa cries. “It _does_ come off, because I _did_ fucking write mine. I wanted...I thought...Iwa-chan, I’m sorry I thought that it would only be a matter of time before it was real. I thought for sure that—”

“Wait...you’re serious?” Iwa-chan says, blinking like the light is too bright all of a sudden. “You... _you wrote it yourself?”_

“Yes...Iwa-chan, I’m so—”

“ _For three years?”_

“Iwa...” Oikawa doesn’t know what to say. He’s still clutching his own wrist, covered in dripping black ink and soap bubbles. He doesn’t want to take his hand away, to see his skin naked and bare after all these years of carrying Iwa-chan’s name.

“How could you...how could you _do_ that?”

Oh God, this is going to be worse than Oikawa thought it would be. He was expecting immediate, outright anger, was prepared for it, almost. But this...this disbelief, this confusion and betrayal flickering over Iwa-chan’s face, is harder to deal with. What will it turn into when Iwa-chan really grasps just how bad all of this is?

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice breaking on a sob. “Iwa-chan...I don’t know, I just...I wanted to be yours, and I thought I _would_ be, and then...and then we never got our marks and I didn’t—I didn’t know what _do._ I know how terrible it is, how terrible I am. It’s why I’ve been so weird and shitty and forgetful. I can’t sleep and I just—I’m sorry. I’m so, so—”

“Stop,” Iwa-chan says.

“But I—”

“ _Stop.”_

Oikawa bites his lip to keep back his words, but he can’t do anything about the tears blurring his vision and streaming down his face

“You _are_ mine,” Iwa-chan says. And somehow, even though he’s just found out that Oikawa is a lying sack of shit, he doesn’t say it with disgust. “ _My_ mark is real, Oikawa,” he says, pressing his hand to his own ribs. “That means I belong to you, and you…”

Oikawa’s head hangs down and he holds his dripping wrist to his chest. He cries harder when Iwa-chan comes closer and wraps his hand around Oikawa’s, right over the spot where his name has been written for years. “It doesn’t matter if your mark is fake, you stupid, crazy, selfish psychopath. You still belong to me.”

Iwa-chan peels Oikawa’s fingers away from his wrist then and smooths his hand over it, rubbing away the soap and smeared ink.

The mark isn’t gone though. _Iwaizumi Hajime_ is still written, clean and black, right where it was before.

Iwa-chan brushes his fingers over it. “Oikawa…”

“I don’t understand,” Oikawa says, pulling away and turning back to the sink. He grabs a sheet of paper towel and crumples it up, soaking it with soap and water and using it to scrub at his entire forearm. He rinses it and checks it again, and still it hasn’t faded, the water runs clean when it pours over his skin. “Why won’t it come off?” he says, scrubbing at it again, so hard now that it stings and his skin is turning an angry red underneath Iwa-chan’s name.

“Oikawa, stop it.”

“But it’s not coming _off,”_ Oikawa says, still sobbing, soaked with his own tears and the hot water he’s splashed all over himself with his frantic scrubbing. The mark hasn’t faded at all. His skin is raw and clean and the mark is perfect, so perfect, and—

“Because Soul Ink doesn’t come off, stupid,” Iwa-chan says. “Maybe it wasn’t real before, but you weren’t wrong, Oikawa. Of course we were meant to be together.”

“But…” Oikawa can’t process this. It’s too much, far too much for him to even begin to put together after how exhausted and guilt-ridden and certain he has been that everything he hoped for was never going to happen. He tries to rub his hand over his wrist again, but Iwa-chan stops him, grabbing both of his hands and holding them tightly in his own.

“Stop it,” he says. “You’re insane— _insane_ —and I should probably hate you right now, but...crazy or not, you’re mine, and I’m not gonna let you tear your stupid arm apart.”

“Iwa-chan…”

“You should have _told_ me,” Iwa-chan says. His voice is hard, but his hands around Oikawa’s have gone soft. He slides them up to wrap gently around Oikawa’s wrists.

“I know,” Oikawa says, sniffing. “I was so scared.”

Iwa-chan closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. “You’re so stupid. You’re _so_ stupid.”

“I know,” Oikawa says again.

“ _Three years?”_ Iwa-chan says.

Three years. Three years of trying to fake something that was real all along. Oikawa might never stop crying.

“You must really fucking love me,” Iwa-chan says, and Oikawa sobs harder still and falls forward into Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan who has to be an actual, literal angel. Who lets him do it, wraps his arms around him and holds him against his chest.

“I really fucking love you, Iwa-chan,” he says into the other boy’s shoulder.

“I honestly don’t know if I should kill you or kiss you,” Iwa-chan says.

“You should probably kill me,” Oikawa says, his words broken up by hiccups and sniffles. _But please, please kiss me._

Iwa-chan steps back and runs his hands up Oikawa’s arms, over his flushed, tear-streaked face. “You’re a mess,” he says. “Did you even do your hair today?”

“No,” Oikawa says. He doesn’t even care how bad he looks right now, and he knows he looks _really_ bad, so this is something very new for him.

Iwa-chan cards his fingers through it, brushing it off of Oikawa’s forehead and then pressing his palms against his cheeks. His eyes are warm despite the firm set of his jaw. “This was really eating you up, huh?”

It was devouring him and swallowing him whole. He feels like he’s been in some kind of awful pit he couldn’t claw his way out of for so long, and now, finally, he’s realized Iwa-chan’s hand was there the whole time, reaching out to take his.

“I thought you would really hate me,” Oikawa says. “And I thought...I thought we weren’t going to get to be together, and—”

“I _can’t_ hate you. I’m fucking branded with your name now. Stupid, showy handwriting and all.”

Another sobs slips out and Oikawa tries to tuck his chin down again, but Iwa-chan holds him in place.

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa says, eyes cast downward. “I’ll understand, if you don’t want to—”

“Idiot,” Iwa-chan says, and then he leans forward and kisses Oikawa before he can say another word.

His lips are cool and soft, just a little bit chapped, and Oikawa doesn’t know quite what he’s supposed to do, but he thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to do anything at all because this, just Iwa-chan’s lips pressed to his, is the most perfect thing he’s ever felt. They stay just like that for the longest time, Iwa-chan’s hands sliding back into his hair, his breath warm on his face. Oikawa can feel it heating him right down to his toes. When Iwa-chan finally withdraws, Oikawa brings a hand to his mouth, like he can still feel Iwa-chan’s kiss on his lips with his fingers.

“I hate that you lied to me,” Iwa-chan says. “I hate that you’ve been miserable for so long and I hate that you didn’t let me help you.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything. He hates all of these things, too.

“I hate your shitty handwriting, too,” Iwa-chan continues, “but I’m glad it’s on me.” Oh God, just when Oikawa thought his tears had run out. “Because I love you, Tooru.”

They will never run out. He will cry until he’s an empty husk, and after all of this Iwa-chan will be out a soulmate before he even really had one.

“Tooru?”

Oikawa sniffs and opens his mouth, but he’s just too overwhelmed. All he can offer is a watery smile that wobbles and collapses a moment later.

“Oh God...you’re broken,” Iwa-chan says.

Oikawa lets his head drop to Iwa-chan’s shoulder and nods, with difficulty.

“I have a useless, broken soulmate.”

“With bad hair,” Oikawa adds, voice muffled against Iwa-chan’s shirt.

“With the worst hair.”

Oikawa hiccups and then a laugh bubbles out of his chest. He’s so lucky. He’s so, unbelievably lucky.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

Iwa-chan wraps his arms around Oikawa’s back and rests their heads together. “I know,” he says. “But it will probably look better tomorrow.”

Oikawa laughs again and Iwa-chan holds him a little tighter, and they’re still standing there, just like that, when the rest of the team starts to turn up before practice begins.

No one even bats an eye, they just nod their hellos and walk past them like they’re of no more interest than the benches and sinks and mirrors.

Because everyone knows, has always known, that of course, _of course,_ Oikawa and Iwa-chan belong together.

*

Oikawa misses essentially every single thing that happens at school that day. He doesn’t follow the conversations of their friends around them in the halls, doesn’t even _try_ to follow the rambling coming from the front of the classroom ( _Focus, Shittykawa. You’re not copying my notes._ ) And it doesn’t even matter that (surprise!) he forgot his lunch again, because his stomach is so overloaded with the happiest fluttering butterflies that he can’t even imagine eating a single bite.

His mark is _real._  

“It’s not going to go away,” Iwa-chan says, when he catches Oikawa tracing his finger over it for the hundredth time in last period.

“I know,” Oikawa says, looking up at Iwa-chan and smiling. He’s not afraid anymore, he’s just soaking in the relief and joy that has been hitting him in waves throughout the day. “I just...like having you with me.”

“I’m right beside you,” Iwa-chan says.

Oikawa nods and traces Iwa-chan’s name again, and Iwa-chan rolls his eyes and casts a quick look up to the front of room before leaning in to brush his lips over Oikawa’s wrist.  

“I like it, too,” he says softly.

Oikawa bites his lip to keep his smile under control, and tries to calculate how many minutes it will be until he can get another look at Iwa-chan’s Soul Ink. Until he can maybe press his own lips to the mark that means the one thing he wants most of all, the person he can’t live without, will always, always be at his side.

Oikawa is very tired and it ends up being more minutes than he can keep track of, but the end of the day finds them finally alone, side by side on Iwa-chan’s bed, where Oikawa spent so many nights as a child.

“I haven’t told my parents my ink showed up yet,” Iwa-chan says, rolling to face Oikawa and propping himself up on his elbow. “I don’t think they’ll be so cool with us sharing a room when they know there’s no reason for us not to…you know.”

Oikawa smiles and shifts onto his side, too. “There was never really any reason for us not to.”

“Other than me not having your mark, and you spending way too much time with a sharpie?”

“Well yes, that’s why _I_ never tried anything. You didn’t know that though, so...why didn’t you?”

Iwa-chan gives a one-shouldered shrug and then falls onto his back. Oikawa reaches over and gently pushes his shirt up, high enough that he can see his name.

“Iwa?” Oikawa asks again, gliding his fingertip along the black lines on Iwa-chan’s ribs.

“I dunno. I guess I just...I liked the idea of us both having them. I wanted to really be _yours_ when we...”

Oikawa hasn’t been able to stop smiling since he finally ran out of tears. He really can’t stop now, with Iwa-chan blushing, still unable to say the words.

“Such a romantic, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up.” Iwa-chan turns his face away from Oikawa, and Oikawa chases him, climbing on top of him and taking his face in his hands once he’s comfortably straddling Iwa-chan’s hips.

“I like it. And you don’t have to be embarrassed...you can say anything to me, Iwa-chan.”

“Stop calling me that,” Iwa-chan says. “Not like this...not here.”

Oikawa lets his hands slide down from Iwa-chan’s face, over his neck, down to broad shoulders and a solid chest. “Hajime,” he says, and Iwa-chan nods, cheeks still a warm, deep pink. “Will you keep calling me Tooru, then?”

“If you want me to,” Iwa-chan says, his hands slipping from Oikawa’s waist to move up his back and pull him closer.

Oikawa hums his agreement and lets Iwa-chan pull him all way down, so he can feel the heat from the other boy’s bare stomach through his own shirt as their lips come together.

It’s hard to tell, because his whole body starts to feel shivery and alive with Iwa-chan’s mouth moving against his, tongue pressing at the seam of his lips and hands firm on Oikawa’s back, but it almost seems like he can _feel_ Iwa-chan’s name on his wrist, warm and tingling.

It’s comfortable and exciting at once. The same lips and hands and body he’s known for as long as he can remember, but moving in new ways, experienced with all of his senses instead of just sight. All at the same time—the taste of Iwa-chan’s tongue lazily licking into his mouth now, the scent of him, clean and sweet and fresh like rainwater just fallen, his breath soft on Oikawa’s face, and his hands slipping up his shirt to run calloused fingers in firm trails up his back—it’s enough to have Oikawa panting into their languid kisses.

“Hey,” Iwa-chan says softly when they’ve pulled apart just enough to catch their breath. “We should...” he bites his lip, smooths his hands up and down Oikawa’s back. “We should stop...for now.”

“What?” Oikawa asks, leaning in to catch Iwa-chan’s lips again, nipping his lower lip lightly and then running the tip of his tongue over it. “No...I wanna—”

“I know,” Iwa-chan says, tipping his head back before Oikawa can kiss him again. “I do, too, but—”

“But nothing,” Oikawa says, rubbing his nose under the line of Iwa-chan’s jaw instead. “We can have _everything_ now.”

“Not _right_ now,” Iwa-chan says and Oikawa sits up so he can look at him. “We’re not having sex tonight, Oikawa.”

Oikawa feels his eyebrows fly up before he can get his expression under control. “ _Tooru,”_ he says firmly. “You can’t say that _and_ last-name me at the same time, that’s just mean.”

“Tooru,” Iwa-chan says.

“Why don’t you want to—”

Iwa-chan reaches a hand up and trails his fingertips over Oikawa’s cheek. “Because you look like shit, Tooru.”

“Iwa-chan!”

“Now who’s last-naming?” Iwa-chan asks with a smirk.

“So rude! How can you—”

“You’re _tired_ , stupid,” Iwa-chan says, cupping Oikawa’s face with both hands now, and pulling him in for a light kiss. “When was the last time you slept properly?”

“I’m not _that_ tired,” Oikawa says petulantly, when Iwa-chan’s lips have left his.

He feels his face fold into an expression a stubborn six year old might wear at bedtime, because he _is_ so tired. His head hurts, his limbs are heavy, his eyes feel dry and strained, and he would happily ignore all of that for Iwa-chan, but—

“We have our whole lives, Tooru,” Iwa-chan says, stroking his thumbs over Oikawa’s cheeks. “Our whole _lives._ And there are...so many things I want to do with you.” Oikawa’s stomach clenches and sends out rolling waves of heat at the look in Iwa-chan’s eyes, the way they sweep up and down Oikawa’s body. “But tonight, you’re exhausted, I know you are. Of course, it’s mostly your own fault...”

“Entirely,” Oikawa says quietly.

“I’m trying to be generous.”

“Thank you.”

Iwa-chan smiles and pulls Oikawa down against his chest before rolling so they’re on their sides, sharing the same soft pillow.

“I finally get to really take care of you, so just...let me, okay? It’s important to me.”

Oikawa means to nod, but he just stares back at Iwa-chan while his heart slowly melts away.

“You need to rest,” Iwa-chan continues. “Just sleep, and don’t worry, and know that I’m beside you. And I’ll be beside you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and we’ll…”

Oikawa is biting his lip. He’s not sure which one is going to overtake him again this time, the tears or the smiling.

“We’ll do all the things we want to do,” Iwa-chan says.

(It’s both. They both overtake him.)

“Okay, stop,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t take any more Romantic Iwa-chan.”

“God dammit, Tooru…”

“Hajime!” Oikawa corrects himself. “You’re killing me. I’m overloaded. Just—”

“ _Sleep,”_ Iwa-chan says, folding his arms tightly around Oikawa and then pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. Not just a brush of lips, but a promise, a seal, a claim. “Just sleep, Tooru. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oikawa stops covering his face and curls one hand in the front of Iwa-chan’s shirt. The other he slips underneath it to press to Iwa-chan’s side, right where he knows his name is written in ink that will never fade, never lie. Just like the mark on his own wrist, held tight in his soulmate’s hand now.

“Me neither,” Oikawa promises, as if there was ever any doubt of it. He was committed to Iwa-chan before he ever marked himself with his name, before fate stepped in and agreed to let Oikawa keep him. His old mark was a lie, but his feelings for Iwa-chan have always been as genuine and enduring as the ink that binds them now. Promises written on their skin that they’ll get to honor for the rest of their lives.

Iwa-chan kisses Oikawa’s head once more, and Oikawa smiles.

He’s smiling when he falls asleep, and he’s smiling when he wakes and Iwa-chan is exactly where he said he’d be. Right beside him, wrapped up with him, bound to him not by his own eager, hopeful, foolish hand, but purely and honestly and permanently by the ties of destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Mel, for coming up with this world and this story, and for sharing it with me and letting me play with it XD. It was so much fun collaborating with you! And thank you [Essie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Esselle) for ALL of your help, always <333
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://ellessey-writes.tumblr.com/)!


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